And Then Came Frost
by Tucker Alexander
Summary: Long ago, the snow elves were enslaved by the Dwemer, twisted into a cursed existence, haunting the dark roads and caves of the underground. Skyrim is in a prosperous age, the last Dragonborn having fought off the dragons and ending a war. But drums beat again for the blood of men. There are snow elves remaining, and a new age is coming, one that Skyrim will never forget.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The cave was cold, cold enough to pierce an outsider to the very core, and fill them up with the slow creep of chill. It had been a long time since Drielanor had felt the cold, though, a long time since Drielanor had really felt anything. The stale air and darkness was all he knew now, all he could remember. He knew he had been something else once, a snow elf, but that didn't matter now. Drielanor didn't really know, Drielanor didn't really care, because Drielanor had his cave. Drielanor had his hollow, cold, damp cave, a place he could call home, a place where no one ever bothered him.

There was once a time when Drielanor was bothered by people, where he had to actually communicate with them. Throughout his life, he had been treated poorly by the small folk, the race of vermin that tortured his existence. Years of slavery they had put him through, separating him from his family, and forcing him to drink that disgusting liquid which helped him to survive in the deep dark. Years had passed, and slowly, the others, the ones like Drielanor, twisted and cursed to the same existence, died off, leaving only Drielanor. Drielanor didn't know why he was left, and they weren't, but he didn't really care, because Drielanor, he had his cave.

Drielanor spent his days sitting, listening to the steady drip of water that served as his main source of entertainment, and killing unlucky creatures that happened to stumble into his domain. Some of them were his own kind, but Drielanor didn't care, Drielanor was hungry. He was stronger than his brethren, and smarter, retaining more of his old qualities than the rest, and living centuries past the average lifetime. Truthfully, though, Drielanor didn't know how long he had lived, and the time seemed to drag past deep under the earth, days blending together, the light of the sun no longer providing a way of keeping time.

This served as the majority of Drielanor's existence, and since he didn't see dying as a future possibility, he was content exactly as he was. That is, until the day something new stumbled across his cave. This something awoke Drielanor from one of his frequent naps under a large rock in the corner of his cave, and sleepily, he hobbled across the floor of the cave, his appetite coming to him at the prospect of a fresh kill. He began to hobble faster, his mouth watering, guttural growls emitting from the back of his throat, and he rounded a corner to face the noisy creature directly,

As he stepped into view of the creature, it_ spoke_, spewing a hasty swear, before jerking forward and kneeing Drielanor in the face. His vision going black, Drielanor gave a small, surprised grunt, before tumbling backwards and smashing into a wall.

"Falmer, such ugly, little creatures." Said a new voice, haughty and dripping with condescension.

"Not so quick there, Sasere, I'll have you know you're talking about one of my distant cousins," replied the original voice, jokingly. "You okay, little guy? Come now, get up."

Drielanor pulled his face from the wall, leaving a streak of drool across the stone, and dazed, turned to face the person who had sent him flying. He gave a shriek of anger at the sight of the person, a short, pale elf, with white hair, and an impish face, and scurried towards him, leaping, claws outstretched for his face.

The second kick landed squarely in his face again, and he flew back with a squeak, resuming his beloved position splayed across the wall.

"On second thought, you're right, those damn things are annoying."

"See? You're not too different."

"Funny, Sasere. Very funny."

Sasere, a human woman with black hair and studded armor akin to bandits, crossed her arms and looked at him. "So? What exactly do we need him for, Alaas?"

Alaas, the impish snow elf, turned to look at the crumpled form of Drielanor, hugging the wall. "If we're to carry this through, we need all the help we can get, and he has hope."

"You really think you can bring him back?"  
"I hope."

Sasere smirked, and drew a net from the pack on her back. "Want me to do the honors?"

"Go right ahead."  
She walked up to Drielanor, who was peeling himself off of the wall, and crouched down to his level. When he noticed her, he snarled violently. She snarled back at him, and promptly embedded her fist into the pale, soft flesh of his face.

For the third time that day, Drielanor hit the wall, but this time, he was out. Seeing this, Sasere drew the net across him and tied it, in a way that she could easily drag him along behind her, on the way back to the encampment.

"Ready to plan a war?" She asked.

Alaas looked at her, a new seriousness burning in his eyes. "I have been for awhile now."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

There was something about a war encampment, that stirred the blood in even the most domestic of soldiers. Alaas could feel his heart begin to race, as him and Sasere arrived at the hastily-constructed camp's gate, dragging an unconscious Drielanor in tow.

The guard, a hired mercenary, like many of the men who made up Alaas' army, was a black-scaled argonian, who sat in a chair on a raised platform, near the pulley on top of the gate.

"Back so soon?" He asked, in a velvety voice.

Alaas stepped to the side, to provide a clear view of the sleeping Falmer, netted behind him. "Thankfully so. Now, Falles, the gate?"

"Of course, sir, I apologize."

The gate opened with a creak, and bits of metal clattered off, while others clung to the patchy wooden framework. Behind the gate, the war camp was busy, as always. The noise level increased dramatically without the gate blocking the sound, and Alaas smiled, gesturing Sasere to follow him in.

"Oh don't worry," she said sarcastically, "I haven't been dragging this sack of flesh around for the past two hours, or anything."

But, she followed anyways, pulling Drielanor along as easily as a sack of wheat, into the bustling cavern. Near the gate, a ramshackle barracks had been constructed, filled with other mercenaries lounging about, drinking wine and laughing. In a pile near the blacksmith, on the other side of the cleared area in the center of the camp, were dwemer mechanisms, ready to be rebuilt. Two centurions had already been restored, and were laid out on the stone floor. No one had gotten up the nerve to activate them, although, as their allegiance was still unknown, and it was a possibility they could have retained their obedience to their long-dead masters.

In a cage in the center of the cleared area, were four frost trolls, that Sasere and some mercenaries had painstakingly captured in the Pale, just outside of Dawnstar. Numerous other cages circled the cavern, lining the outer wall, and filled to the brim with approximately three hundred Falmer. These cages were the source of the majority of the noise in the cavern, not a second going by without some sort of squeal, growl, or roar emitting from their filthy interiors.

"Just like Sovngard, eh?" Alaas said, looking at Sasere.

"Funny, you take me for a Nord, do you?"

"No, I take you for a woman with a sense of humor. Obviously that is not the case."

"Why you pointy-eared, little-"

"Relax, Sasere. Just put the Falmer in one of those cages on the east wall, will you?"

Sasere gave a quiet _hmmph_, and slung the net over her back, walking towards the eastern wall.

Alaas smirked at her retreating figure, and pivoted on his heel to walk towards the planning tent. One of the frost trolls clawed at him from the cage, but he merely sidestepped and continued towards the tent. Throwing open the flap, he stepped inside, the temperature becoming noticeably warmer, due to the large amount of bodies in the room.

A large table sat in the middle of the room, covered in maps and documents, and bending under the weight of all of the people leaning against it.

Alaas stopped, "My brothers."

Eight snow elves looked up from their war planning at the sound of Alaas' voice. A staggered cheer emitted from the group, and the tallest stepped forward to shake his hand.

"Alaas, it is good to see you. These past hours have been...difficult."

The speaker was obviously the oldest of the nine snow elves in the tent, and his serious face was stained with years of stress, a bright white, rather than the pale blue of the others.

Alaas frowned, "Why is that, Dorvar?"

Dorvar, the taller elf, sighed and turned back to the table. "We have been attempting to work a strategy that would be successful with the amount of men we have, but I'm afraid our army is just not sufficient enough, Alaas."

Another elf, one near the back of the table, spoke up, "Nonsense, it is perfectly sufficient. We have dragons, Dorvar. Skyrim shall kneel beneath the might of their frost breath, and the brute strength of our trolls."

Dorvar slammed his fist on the table, "Gods, Samael, we've been through this. We _don't_ have dragons, let alone ones as strong as frost dragons.

Samael, the youngest of the elves, pointed to an "x" on a map in front of him, "And I've told you, I know a location where we can obtain some."

"Samael, I don't think it's a good idea for us-"

"Enough," Alaas interrupted, throwing a hand out in front of him, "I wish to hear of Samael's plan, without the petty squabbling."

Samael grinned at Alaas for a moment, before returning to the map, "Well, you see, since the Dovahkiin defeated Alduin, dragons have been running even more rampant, without a leader to unite them. But there are some dragons, all frost dragons, mind you, who have come together up north, on the ice caps, to form some sort of alliance."

"And I suppose you think it wise to attempt and capture a group of fully-grown frost dragons?" Interjected one of the other snow elves, standing next to Dorvar.

"Well, I hadn't quite, uh.."

Alaas sighed, "Well Samael, if you think this is a solid plan, we can discuss it later. But onto more important topics, Layle, is the serum nearing completion?"

A balding snow elf, wearing robes, stepped forward from behind Dorvar, "No, Alaas. I haven't been able to find a way to restore the eyesight or reverse the degeneration process, without killing the subject."

"Layle, we need that serum. Weren't the scrolls enough help with making it?"

"Yes, the scrolls were extraordinarily helpful, and without them, I wouldn't have been able to engineer the chemical base, at all."

"Then what's the problem?"

Layle swallowed nervously, "Well, Alaas, I...I require a pureblood snow elf to restore the Falmer completely."

"Well then that's no problem, is it? We have nine snow elves right here."

"Alaas, the process in which I would harvest the necessary compounds, would be, well, fatal."

The snow elves in the room sank into an uncomfortable silence, eying each other nervously.

"Oh.." Alaas muttered.

"Yes, oh."

"So what are we to do?"  
"I'm afraid I don't know."

Dorvar spoke, "If I may speak, maybe this isn't something that could work."

"What are you saying?

"I'm saying, maybe the war effort is, well, pointless."

Alaas grew grim, his face taking on a dark demeanor that chilled his brothers to the very core. He walked forward, and looked Dorvar in the eye, their noses almost touching.

"Dorvar. The dwarves of Skyrim tortured our people for centuries, turning us into feral beasts that know nothing but hunger and killing. We live in the shadows of the underground, and the light of day is a rare privilege. As the dwarves of Skyrim worked our people to death and desperation, we will be worked again. Snow elves will never be free from it, and if we can't be free from it, then the people of Skyrim can no longer be allowed to live."

A shadow had fallen across the tent, and with this speech, Alaas became something new. He embodied the pain and fear of every snow elf that had ever died at the hands of oppression, and his voice cracked with the raw emotion and determination behind his words.

Dorvar straightened his collar, looking directly at Alaas without flinching. "So, brother, what can we do?"

Alaas was silent for a moment, pondering some unknown decision. After a while, he said, without looking away, "We take those dragons, and for once, a snow elf will look at Skyrim from above, rather than below. That, my brothers, is what we will do."


End file.
